THIRD PERSON
The wind feels different tonight. Not dangerous. But restless.
At the edge of the northern territory, Lyra stands on a cliff, silver hair whipping wildly around her face. Her golden eyes scan the dark forest below.
Something is wrong. She can feel it. Not like a normal threat. Not like rogues. This is quieter. Hidden. And that makes it worse.
Behind her, footsteps approach. Slow. Measured. Kael stops a few feet away.
“You’ve been up here for an hour,” he says calmly.
Lyra doesn’t turn. “Something’s off.”
Kael folds his arms. “You say that every time the wind changes.”
“And I’m usually right.”
A pause. He doesn’t argue. Because she is. Too often.
Kael steps beside her now, his gaze following hers into the darkness. For a while, they say nothing. Just listening.
Then,
